It kills me
by witchfingers
Summary: [AU] It's a stormy night. A dark castle sits atop a hill, overlooking the forest. Meanwhile, inside... 'OKAY, so I'm not a vampire. I'm half vampire. But what does it matter? In the end I get to suck your blood, so...' [DxS]
1. Ripple of a drop

_Danny Phantom doesn't belong to me. It belongs to Butch Hartman. n.n_

**It kills me

* * *

**

It was late at night, one of those nights that allowed absolutely null amount of light to leak into the castle, even though the large, ogival windows invited it to come in. When they were not covered by the dark purple velvet curtains, those that fit too long and spilled down on the floor as if they were languid waterfalls.

A dense veil of clouds stretched out enough to cover the sky totally, and not even the bats, darker than the darkest black, could be recognized against it as they flipped their wings maniatically over the surrounding forest. The castle sat atop a rocky hill, tough cliffside that offered a peculiar view to the northwest, steep dirt path that led to the castle in question to the south.

The calm was as always thick and unbreakable, and nothing human lived in kilometers round.

As the detail of the ogival windows revealed, it was a gothic castle. Probably built during the XIIIth century, dark, veiled period, it still stood proudly and intact, after many hundreds of years of dark anonymity to the outer world. The mistress, born and fated to die in that very place, believed with semi-accuracy that she should be living during the 1800s, and there was no reason, or person, who seemed to prove her wrong.

The aforementioned gothic castle, was a true masterpiece. It stone walls talked of great past things, crusades, paladins and odes and obscure poetry, but also of inquisition and silence, and, why not, blood. The musk accumulated on the windowsills and paths adjoining the seigniorial residence could talk more than a hundred of history texts, and from the gravity defying merlons the viewer could contemplate both the immense, endless forest as well as the passing of time, as stagnant in that place as a leave that floats on a pond.

The Lady of the castle was called Samantha, and the rumors among the scarce, extremely pale and barely undernourished servants told she did honor her name. Samantha, they said, was a witch's name, and though the lady wasn't involved in supernatural endeavors, all that lived around her agreed that her aura invited to doubt.

At the moment the Lady, or Sam, as she had expressed she liked to be referred to, had just finished reading an intricate book of Romantic prose, and disposed to kill time until exactly one in the morning, which was the time she went to bed regularly, unless the weather was good. If it was, then she could be seen taking a stroll outside, and she'd retire to her chambers even later.

A servant dutifully placed a dainty, delicate crystal cup on the small table next to her French rosewood sofa. To it he added a bottle of aged cognac. Dismissed with a glance from the Lady, he bowed respectfully and left his mistress alone again, in the library of extreme proportions. Indeed, a large bookcase occupied a whole wall, which was four meters tall. A modest movable stair was attached to the wood, in case a volume from the upper parts was required.

Sam unceremoniously uncorked the bottle and poured herself a little cognac. Against the usage she drank it cold, and her delicate long, pale, slender fingers curled around the fragile base of the cup.

Gathering her abundant mass of skirts, she stood up and paced, the edges of her rich satin-and-velvet-and-embroidery dress frilling with a pleasant, yet too monotonous dry noise, as if sweeping fallen autumn leaves. Her corset was tight and black, yet the lace edging of the décolletage was an uncertain light color, leaning towards a pale lilac or faded lavender. The same lace edging was also present in the broadening sleeves and in the very end of the dress, the one that came into contact with the floor. And, that way she dress made one fact obvious; the mistress of the gothic castle was a Goth herself.

Black hair as the feathers of a raven cascaded to her shoulders, and framed a really pale face which was very pretty, enough to be considered that of a porcelain doll.

She stood before the enormous glass panels, the wind singing along with the invisible-in-the-darkness tree-tops.

Then the lightning started and, shortly after, the thunder. The lady stood by the large window in meditative contemplation, and would have stayed that way, cup of expensive cognac lingering on her left hand, if she hadn't been slightly startled by a barely perceptive sound of footsteps behind her back.

She impassively turned round, her eyes stumbling across something unexpected.

Strangers weren't allowed into the castle without Sam's previous conformity, and she was sure she wasn't expecting anyone that day, especially at such an advanced hour of the night. On the other hand, burglars had been scarce many, many years before Sam's parents had died (and they had died quite a long time ago), and the servants didn't as much as walk into the same room she was in unless she called them.

She quirked an eyebrow.

The exquisitely carved candelabrum that hung on the walls burnt softly and merrily, as the newcoming stranger walked towards her from the deepest shadows of the room. A closer approach to the light revealed the young Lady a flash of white fangs. As an expression of her surprise at the vision her fingers loosened around the cup, and it fell to the floor and shattered, the glass shards remaining in a puddle of amber-colored cognac.

A muffled gasp left her lips, and she quickly tried to make up for it by covering them with one of her slender hands. Was that stranger the creature she thought he was...? Those fangs...

One step, two steps, three steps, the stranger finally strolled into vision. The feature that attracted Sam's attention was, oddly enough, sky blue eyes that shyly appeared from behind black bangs. All the rest of him suggested a nature other than human, and that was what had made her drop the cup in the first place.

All the skin visible on him was unnaturally pale, almost white, and a fang could be seen lurking about his lips, not parted yet not fully closed, and forged into an expression the Lady couldn't name. A light-colored shirt draped around his body, untucked and cuffs rolled up to his elbows, leaving a large amount of pearly white neck exposed. A dark cloak that seemed to be made from light fabric was mysteriously pinned to his shoulders and cascaded down to his ankles.

At the sight of her silent surprise, the stranger smiled soothingly. Sam distantly noticed it showed off four sharp canines, since she was much more worried as she noticed, her stomach knotting tightly, how harmonious his features were, and how _perfect_ his smile seemed. Her lower lip parted a little, but she took a step backwards.

A flash of lightning, then, thunder, again, silence.

"Daniel the III. My pleasure," said the newcomer bowing graciously, dark bangs falling according to gravity darkening his face as he did. "I should have introduced myself before entering. Or would you have preferred me to ask one of your _charming _servants to do so for me...?"

Sam's eyes widened, every bit of _anything_ that had made him sinister previously slowly melting with his character, and though she pleaded herself to keep in guard, she couldn't help noticing how less threatening those white fangs were.

She pleaded to herself to keep cautious.

"Samantha Mason," she said quickly, "Can I know what's made you come in such an unlikely hour?"

"Do you mind waiting..." Daniel smiled, "... or shall I go straight to the point?"

The Lady felt her back come into contact with the still, cold glass window panes. "Straight to the point," she mouthed, her words coming out strangled from somewhere inside her throat.

"Good," he said, taking a casual step towards her. "You see, Sam..."

She didn't as much as flinch when he spoke to her so unceremoniously. Though she wholeheartedly preferred it, she wasn't used to such treatment.

"...I'm _hungry_..."

Sam's thoughts converged into a single one: "_Oh shit..._" She guessed her first thoughts about the dazzlingly handsome (and pale) stranger were right. He _was_ a supernatural creature.

Her hand clutched inside her pocket. Perhaps, if she could just borrow herself some time...

Daniel went on, smile still tugging at his lips. "And vegans are my favorites."

At that, Sam quirked an eyebrow. "Is my diet _that_ important, really?"

"Well... they aren't my _favorites_... they're kinda my only choice," he scowled, taking a step closer to Sam.

The Lady stared him down, and finally, as the culmination of her silent defiance, she lifted an eyebrow at him.

Daniel hung up his arms, making it hard for her to decide whether in anger or frustration, "OKAY, so I'm not a vampire. I'm _half_ vampire. But what does it matter? In the end I get to suck your blood, so..."

The wind blew wildly outside, if Sam hadn't been so absorbed in desciphrating Daniel's look she'd probably imagined many a treetop cracking and falling to the moist ground. She'd probably wonder if it made any noise.

Then it began to rain.

"So you're a..." she searched for the words in the back of her head, "... a _frustrated _vampire?"

He sighed in resignation. "Yeah, you could call me that.. You wouldn't be the first one."

"Sorry Danny, I don't mean to get your self-esteem low," she joked, seeing that perhaps there could be a way out of that seemingly life-or-death situation. At first, there had seemed like no possibility of salvation was really possible- the following morning her servants would find her dry corpse and probably think, "About time!".

But if he'd said he was only half vampire then it meant that he was also half _human_, right? She'd play her cards carefully.

"Want to talk it over a cup of cognac?"

Daniel the III, "Danny", from now onwards, looked at her puzzled. "...I'm... about to eat you?"

"Later will do," Sam said, merrily enough to disconcert the vampire. But around someone so attractive as him, it wasn't hard to mask the terror she felt. But that terror was slowly giving way to something... something called thrill. Sam slipped from her hideous place against the wall and made it for a small cupboard, from where she snatched two rounded crystal cups. And oh, time was gold, yes, but vampires as the stories told, could _fly_.

Dawning upon him, Danny called after Sam, "Hey! Wait, there's nothing I need to talk about!"

"Nonesense," she said smiling, her eyebrows drawing an arch over her eyes that lingered there in a mortificant way. Had the tables turned, or was it just Danny's idea?

Sam waved smally. "Over here," she instructed, motioning the startled half-vampire to sit down on a tall armchair lined with velvet. She was sitting on one which was exactly the same, but on the other end of a small, gracious round table, upon which the previously uncorked bottle of liquor rested.

"You like it cold, or should I get a servant to warm it up a bit?" she offered as he sat down, seeing him eye the clear liquid with little more than apathy.

"Same thing," he replied dully.

She questioned him with her eyes.

"'Can't taste it," he said with a shrug. "Would you treat your meals so nicely?"

The Lady let out a short, lively laugh. She immediately wondered when it had been the last time she'd laughed _that_ way. "I guess I wouldn't eat them when I was done. Luckily, I don't eat anything that emits a sound, or has the IQ to invite me for a cup."

"Smart thing."

Sam smiled approvingly. Was it even _legal_ to be so charming? Her eyes couldn't stop drinking in the handsome creature... she blinked. It wasn't as if she were glued to him... but it certainly felt that way.

"What? Not enough mortification yet? Or do you feel like inviting me some appetizer?"

She let out that lively laugh again. And boy was it odd.

But this time, he chuckled some bit, too.

And then, it was _odder._

"We could have been friends, if I weren't about to have you for supper." Danny noted lightly, making Sam's lilac eyes look up at him in curiosity.

"We still can be," she humored, seeing that a dull expression was currently stationed in Danny's face, "That way you wouldn't need to eat me."

"No, thank you. Finish your cognac, Sam, I'm hungry."

She lowered her eyelids and narrowed his eyes. "Though I appreciate this sudden closeness, I got to say that was rude. Wait until I'm done, it's not like you'll grow old."

The half vampire mumbled something unintelligible.

Sam placed her unfinished cup on the table, fully knowing that Danny's eyes were following her closely, and that he probably wasn't happy with her doing that. "How old are you?" She asked, suddenly. Danny dully answered,

"523"

Her eyes dilated a bit in surprise. "That's quite some time. But I mean, how old were you when you were... uh, bitten."

Daniel the III smiled sourly, his long black hair obscuring his face for some seconds, adding a dark glow to his blue eyes. "I was never bitten." Seeing Sam's brow pursing in confusion, he explained slowly, sounding expressionless and monotone, "See, my father was a vampire, and my mother wasn't. They fell in love, married, and had me, and I'm neither."

Sam oh-eh quietly, her eyes softening at Danny's miserable look.

"I stopped growing old when I turned 18. Don't ask me why." He stood up from his armchair and, after eyeing the disconcerted Lady for a while, he announced quietly, his voice husky and unexpected,

"I'm sorry Sam, but you aren't _done_, and it kills me. Your blood smells so sweet..."

Sam was a meter away from him in barely no time. The forgotten sensation of fear hit her again fully, but the glint in Danny's eyes was more dangerous now, and she stood petrified in her place as he again strolled towards her, her attention again focused in his fangs instead of his eyes. Which still bore an innocent, and I-don't-really-want-to-do-this look.

Look which was lost when he smiled, and said calmly, "I promise this won't hurt... much."

Sam had read of petty maidens that trembled and lost will in the arms of seducing creatures that were out for their blood. They fidgeted, and pleaded, and where there was no way out they gave in to the charm and ended up dying in shameful, erotic positions with the name of their murderer escaping their lips in a moan.

Yes, of course, her mother had filled a part of that bookcase with volumes of the sort, even if those were prohibited at that time. But there they'd been, and Sam _had_ read them, and she was wholeheartedly determined to give a good fight for her life.

And that was exactly what she would do as soon as her legs started working again, and she could tear her eyes from Danny's, which surely despite himself showed hunger and some kind of weird daze.

"But even so, I..."

He walked closer towards her, and out of his lips, in which the ghost of a smile was traced, came a whisper, that sounded to Sam sticky and, ironically enough, charged with emotion. And as contradictory as it appeared when she was so scared, she fruitlessly tried to ignore the feeling in her stomach: of lightness. And she wasn't familiar with it, but she'd read about it, and she _knew_, all too well, what the feeling was. And it frightened her as much as it sent pleasant shivers of adrenaline down her spine.

"I don't..."

Danny's voice was dark and hot, and her lips were open to protest but no sound came out of them. He was so close... Sam knew how beautiful that scene was, or would have been, with the magnificent ogival window and the stormy sky as a background, and a cozy, medieval-style library as the calm atmosphere. She'd given up taking steps backwards, the elegant dress she wore still as quiet and still as dark. She stood her ground proudly as the vampire's hand crept up her cheek and stroke it. But Sam was nonetheless surprised at the simplicity, the softness of the act... the sensation of the foreign skin against hers. She closed her eyes.

"I don't want to hurt anyone..."

Sam deduced that vampires didn't need to kiss their victims before they sucked them dry. But his lips were tender, and hinted wasted truthfulness in his voice. She let him kiss her, it was just as they said: there's always a first time for everything.

The Lady proudly doubted that that sincere gesture was something Danny gifted his victims on a regular basis, and so she could be content in knowing she was getting more than she bargained for in a start. His gentle lips left hers, and she realized somewhere in the back of her head she had longed for and answered to that kiss.

Sam felt Danny's breath on her neck, she shivered. She knew what followed.

"...anymore."

He breathed, brushing his lips softly against a spot in her skin. She shivered. He was very, very cold to the touch. But, that comes with being half-dead.

She figured that, when her servants found her the following morning, pale, beautiful, but dead, they'd too think she was cold. But, she mused inwardly, she'd be colder, because she'd be _completely_ dead. All thanks to that confusing, but too alluring creature.

His fangs rasped her skin.

She bit her lower lip to keep a yelp from attracting any attention: she'd die the brave way. Quickly, his long canines sunk into her flesh. And she was angry. With herself. Was that really the best she could do to preserve her life?

Sam felt a very peculiar sensation going through her body. Strengthless, she couldn't fight it, but it was mostly disgusting: as if she had a severe bleeding gash in some part and she couldn't stop it, and all the liquid in her was being drained before her very eyes.

Before the plague had taken her, her mother had mumbled something faint about her mistakes flashing before her eyes. And her father too, something along the lines. But she wasn't seeing anything of the sort, and through a white-ish veil her eyes, shot open, were fixed on the spot right in front of her, namely, two velvet-lined armchairs, and a table, atop which two cups and a bottle were placed. And she thought, "_Well, isn't this ironic?_"

Her mouth felt dry, the taste of cognac mixing with Danny's manly scent. "_It's quite the poetic way to end..._" her mind seemed to be telling her.

When the distant feeling of the vampire's fangs being removed from her neck made her shiver, she found her legs giving way beneath her.

But how curious, she'd never notice Danny slipping an arm around her. The same support that kept her from falling fainted to the floor.

Sam felt lightheaded.

As though she weighed naught, the vampire passed his other arm behind her weak knees and scooped her gently into his arms, as her barely glazed eyes followed him do.

Lightning stroke outside. Thunder that shook the roof followed shortly after, and the persistent rain drummed rhythmically against the higher parts of the castle.

Danny placed Sam on one of the armchairs.

The vampire smiled sheepishly, his mood had improved greatly. Though still not a happy-go-lucky type of person, and definitely _not_ an optimist, Danny wasn't someone who was generally angry with the world, or had a depressive personality.

Unless he was hungry, that is.

"The scare's over, huh?" he joked.

But Sam still didn't put two and two together. She'd been bitten by a vampire. She was out of blood- he searched for her pulse and found none. But she was still alive.

She didn't get it.

"Sure... you are... a good boy..." she said entranced as she massaged her neck, two dark dots quite noticeable against her pale, now paler, skin.

"What am I, a dog?" he asked with mirth.

Sam continued speaking absentmindedly, her eyes unsettled, as if they were fixed in a distant point. "I should be _dead_... and I'm not."

Danny grinned joyfully. "This way I'm not hungry and you're not dead."

She grimaced. "Don't you see the incongruence here? I can't be a vegetarian if I need to suck people dry to stay alive...!"

Danny made a gesture with his hand, "It's not as the books paint it," he explained, eyeing the large, wall-occupying bookcase, "You need to eat only once in, what, a month. You get used."

"You're sooo calming me."

His smile didn't fade with her evident sarcasm. "I'm doing my best, Sam."

She brought her knees to her chest and hugged them. There was a badly concealed look of disraught in her amethist eyes that the half vampire took notice of. "Danny... what are we gonna do now?"

Suddenly it felt like her perfectly constructed, proper and boring life had burnt to ashes right before her eyes. Danny saw in her eyes that she'd been forced to give it all up just for _his_ sake, and she obviously had no clue what she'd do next.

He'd walked into her library, drunk some cognac with her, sucked her dry, made her undead, and all in less than an hour. "_What a prodigy,_" he thought sarcastically.

He sat on one of the wooden arms of Sam's armchair and looked at her, his face betraying no apparent emotion even though his eyes were so intense.

"Well," he said thoughfully, his hand stroking his chin, "Being a vampire is sort of lonely."

"I'm _glad _to hear that," she said sarcastically, "But I got news for you; being Lady Manson is 'sort of' lonely too. No big deal there."

It was clear Danny wasn't the slightest bit sorry for having changed the 17-year-old Lady into a blood-sucking supernatural creature. Nop, not a single bit of remorse.

"Think of the bright side: you'll have an eternity to read all those books."

She quirked an eyebrow. "Thanks, now I can die happy... Oh, I forgot I _can't_ die." She sighed.

"You shouldn't have bitten me."

Danny blinked, not grasping fully what Sam had meant. So he tried to explain. "Well, if you don't feed you go into a moody frenzy. You'll understand it when you get the urge- it's nasty."

"It's like the ripple of a drop, don't you think?" Sam said, her smirk denoting that he should take those words as sarcastic, as deep as they were. But a second glace at her fellow vampire told her that he was a bit on the clueless side.

Danny eyed her oddly. "Whateeever you say, Sam."

* * *

**

* * *

Yeaaaaa, I know about vampires. Red eyes, pale, wrapped in black cloaks, they fear the daylight, and they _don't_ choose if their victim becomes a vampire as well or not. But play along with me. My version's more poetic. **

**And vampire!Danny is not one of those lustful vampires like so many out there.**

**Oh, and I know that when a vampire and a human marry, they _don't_ have children who can only suck vegan's blood.**

**But again, play alongggg**

**Also, according to a date at the start of the fic, it's the 1800s. The artistic current during the time of the story is the Romanticism, but remember this takes place in a Gothic castle of the XIIIth century, and that Sam's a goth- even if they're, let's say, 'out of historical period'.**

**And seeing that I got so many ideas writing this, I think it's progressing towards a multichaptered fic. But I don't promise anything, unless you beg too hard.**

**(A/N- I'm grinning! Will you? Reviewwww)**

**PS: It's my first Danny Phantom fic- does it show too bad?**


	2. Lady Samantha Manson

_Check this out! I did fanart n.n It's vampire!Danny and Sam- this is the link, take off the spaces :D _

http //www . deviantart . com /deviation /48157763/

_Thanks for so many reviews! You guys are the awesomest!

* * *

_

That night was a fine night to be outside. Sam had extended a blanket over the humid grass and Danny and her were sitting on it, gazing at the stars. They'd met a couple of nights before, in considerably less favorable weather conditions. But they were already best friends, because Danny's cluelessness was the perfect match for Sam's sarcasm.

Sam hadn't talked that much with anyone in a long time. Boring talks with those sickening specimens her parents used to pretend her to marry had ensued long years ago, but now that she was her own mistress such things were obviously out of question.

Though she was rich, and pretty, and young, those gentlemen that flattered her in her younger years with hopes of ruling over her possessions had revealed their true colors, and Sam had at times delighted herself in kicking those potential leeches out of her castle.

See, Lady Samantha Manson had been and remained the only child of the Counts of Amity Castle, and in such condition she'd been the logical heiress when they eventually died. The Mansons had been very logical parents. When they lived and until Sam was 14, she had been under constant watch of ms.Spectra, the governess: a competent and effective woman around her thirties, tall, with long curly auburn hair she always carried dutifully in a bun. Sam hated her.

Then one fine morning the Counts fell ill with a plague that had befallen that region and, within weeks, they died. Sam had professed her parents as much affect as they had professed her, and it wasn't much. The Mansons had always desired to have a son. Even when they lay on their deathbeds, they had remained as cold and distant to her daughter as the moon or the stars. From that point onwards Sam knew she could never say she'd loved them.

At 14, she had become the heiress to a huge fortune, a huge castle, and a huge emptiness inside nothing could quell. Ms. Spectra was dismissed by Sam herself, and the castle stopped being visited by those important characters that had ambled everywhere when the Counts were alive. Sam had sunk deep, deep into herself, being alone in the castle with no one but her shadow as company. And after changing her cheery pink dresses into pitch black or purple ones, she finally found something that made her life more worthwhile: the library, and the cognac.

And a heavy journal she kept securely below her bed.

"I wonder why you treated me so nicely, even when I was about to suck out your blood." Danny said, out of the blue, snapping her violently out of her daze. It seemed that was an issue that had been bothering him since that night.

Sam snorted. "Oh, I just liked the gory mental images."

"Really?" Danny inquired. He didn't possibly imagine what kind of mental images the gothic Lady could have gotten... and he resolved he gave nothing to know.

"No, of course not," she said, patting his shoulder, "It's just that I was surrounded by so many brainless dorks for so long, that it was nice to find someone to talk to..."

She realized what she'd just said, and blushed slightly.

Danny noticed it immediately because she was so pale and the blush outstood. "Yeah, well... I was also a long time drifting alone, and the company's... " he gulped and blushed, "...excellent."

Sam ventured a small smile which was answered with another small smile. Danny's eyelids were lowered in a mesmerized-kinda way, and she just knew hers were the same way. She'd have applied common sense but she was genuinely feeling butterflies in her stomach, and she decided the lovestruck smile could stay there some more time.

But finally, she opened her mouth and stated,

"We're blushing like idiots, aren't we?"

* * *

**

* * *

Teehee, I hope this chapter is less OOC than the previous one. Still, expect at least one or two more chapters- and please, review. Cause I can't improve if you don't, you know... n.n **


	3. Daniel the III

_Sorry for the delay. My Internet connection just... died or sth._

_

* * *

_

Sam frowned.

"I don't understand," she said finally, sinking lower into the sofa. "I don't understand at all."

Danny was perched on the sofa's velvety arm. "Still don't?" he asked, smiling smally, letting her know that he was willing to repeat himself as many times as needed. In fact, Sam noticed, _having_ to repeat himself seemed to amuse him a lot. The heavens knew why.

"I thought that when you were bitten by either a vampire or a werewolf, you died," Sam stated irritated at Danny's good mood.

"Oh, it's much more delicate with vampires," he said suavely.

She eyed him curiously. That was the explanation she wanted to hear.

Smiling, he went on, his eyes dreamy as if he were lost in a good memory, "See, we can choose in the last instance if we'd rather our meals survive, or not."

Sam frowned at being called a meal, again.

But Danny didn't seem to notice. "Werewolves are too stupid when they're transformed- of course _they _can't choose... didn't you know that if you're bitten by a werewolf you've no choice but to become one?"

She fake-coughed, and her cough sounded a lot like, "_off topic!_"

"Come on Sam..." the half-vampire said, mocking a pleading voice, "I _need_ to ramble, I've been alone and quiet for like, 300 years, and I _hate_ it!"

"You can't possibly say you haven't spoken in _so long_..."

"Well, no..."

Sam smirked in triumph. "I know for a fact, mr. Daniel the III, that you _do_ speak to your so-called 'meals'..."

Danny frowned. "Well wouldn't you?"

"I'm not saying I wouldn't! In fact I... Oh, forget it. We're rambling," Sam said, the tone of her voice sounding matter-of-fact-ish. The half vampire chuckled.

"_You're_ rambling," he remarked, "I'm socializing."

She quirked an eyebrow. "How come you say you hate being alone, but after 300 or whatever years you were _still_ alone until we met?"

"Yeah, about that... hehe..."

She looked at him questioningly.

"The only vegans I found out there were creepy old guys who locked themselves up in dark basements and did weird stuff with glass bottles..." Danny confessed, albeit sheepishly.

Sam did nothing to suppress a smirk. "Those "creepy old guys" are generally known as alchemists..."

He shrugged. "Anyway, I wasn't about to make any of those immortal, so..." Thinking back on what he'd just said, Danny found himself remembering something he'd been told centuries ago:

"Go for the pretty ladies!" his father had exclaimed the day Danny turned 18.

Danny'd been reluctant at first: "But I... uh... are you sure about this, dad?"

But his father was more experienced: "Couldn't be more certain."

And so Danny had done as told, and the experience had almost cost his life. And then the unfortunate half-vampire had learnt one important fact: the blood of any normal human was in a balanced equilibrium with said human's diet. By eating meat, a human allowed a large portion of iron into its circulatory system, and that iron was lethal to Danny's organism- as he found out after he'd bitten his first victim, his metabolism refused the iron, and caused some strange allergies within his own body. He had been forced to accept that the blood of the most ordinary of humans was the subtlest, deadliest poison he would ever be able to find.

Unaware of that, the first time he'd drank human blood would be engraved forever in his mind as his most painful experience. He'd taken in so much of the venomous substance that he'd been lying down in a bed, half conscious half not for an uncertain period of time that could have been a couple of days or a couple of weeks, trying to fight a peculiar scorching sensation that ripped his insides apart.

Gradually the pain had eased, and Danny had then learnt that in the blood of a human that fed only of vegetables, the gradient of iron was considerably smaller, and it was dissolved in the crimson liquid in a different way.

Finding victims had always been hard and, as Danny previously mentioned, those counted among the ranks of the oddest. Alchemists, fake witches, painters, wiccans, opium smokers, he'd tasted every kind of vegetarian freak that walked that world, since, more or less, the year 1304- which was the year he'd turned 18, and had started feeding (or at least, trying to) like any other ordinary vampire would. Before that, he'd behaved like any normal _human_ kid.

Danny had been called Daniel the III because he was the third Daniel in his father's pure-vampire-blood family.

Really, his father wasn't the brightest crayon in the box.

On the contrary, Danny's mother- a Frenchwoman primorously named _Maddeleine_- had been a devoted scientist. True, she was part-time model in an atelier, but she had _had_ to get some money to live. Scientists were pretty much underestimated during the Middle Ages. She quit the part-time job after she and Danny's father married, and they moved to a quiet little town in the French countryside.

Danny was 23 and hadn't aged one day since his eighteenth birthday, the day Maddie was accused of witch, vampire and necromancer by some nose-bitching neighbors. Although all the charges were false, the Inquisition found them pretty credible, and three months later Danny's mother died being 48, amidst dancing orange flames. Danny's father, devastated at the loss of his only love, starved himself to death.

The young, considerable inexpert half vampire roamed aimlessly for an indefinite period of time, losing himself in forests and trying by all means to forget, blaming all those disgraces on himself and his lack of strength. If only he'd been less clueless, if only he'd been less selfish, if only he'd had a better timing, if only...

Until he understood that the grim reality was, that not all the guilt complexes in the world were enough to bring back two people from the grave.

Danny's grip on reality tightened from that point onwards, and it all came from a simple promise: no one should ever have to suffer what he did- as long as he could help, he would. That finally made his conscience leave him in peace.

As all these memories danced without a particular order inside Danny's head, Sam was left pondering on the half-vampire's words.

If every vampire turned into a vampire all the people he bit, the world would already be populated only by them. So what Danny said did make sense. By being able to choose whether their victims became undead or not, the vampires themselves regulated the extents of their population. And, of course, less vampires _always_ equaled more food.

And it also equaled less choice of mates... and why not, more probability of half-vampires being born...

What did _that _have to do with... anything? She shook her head.

She eyed him, and he eyed her, and after blinking in confusion and gradually pulling themselves back to reality, they started laughing at eachother's disconcerted faces.

The half vampire couldn't deny he was, from time to time, a bit teeny weeny clueless, but he knew it wasn't a trick of the light when he guessed a small blush tingeing her cheeks.

Oh well, it was probably in _his_ cheeks too.

And that reminded him... oh, Danny couldn't say he wasn't lucky in love. He'd had many lovers, mortals, all of them. Of course he'd been dumped constantly, because when his little human blossoms started to wither, and he hadn't aged one minute, they felt jealous and overshadowed, and kicked him out of their lives, before it was too late for them to find a man who would age with them. (He remembered with special affection one Paulina, but that had been a couple of centuries ago, during the Spain/Netherlands war. Yes, her father had conducted a hunting party after they found out his true nature.)

But he still remained a cute 18-year-old young man with looks that any lady would die for, which meant there was always another girl to make up for the last one.

But Danny eventually grew tired of all that.

It came a time when, even though still immersed in the pre-adult innocence, he'd already tried anything and everything and he was just tired of drifting. He wanted a place he could call home and a woman he could call dear.

But whenever he found one that made him tell himself, '_Well, this is the one_', he faced an ironic dilemma: '_If I bite her I die, if I don't _she_ dies_' And he valued his life a lot, thankyouverymuch. He felt there were still many things he had to do...

He still had to _taste_ what real, solid, tangible _love_ felt like. He'd tasted lust. Many times. But it was just like smoking an opium pipe: one moment you're high, the next you're falling deep, deep, deep... and it's very empty down there.

Danny always tried before discarding.

Opium and whores counted among the discarded. He wanted a _life_, not a scapegoat.

He was caught off-guard staring at Sam -again- with a pensive look. But instead of a scowl, he just got a small smile. And that infamous, uncomfortable shadow-of-a-blush.

From their place on the sofa they could see the grey forest out of the large ogival window. The morning wasn't even stirring yet, but a dim, sleepy light was hovering ghostly over the black-green treetops. A flock of undistinguishable birds flew past the castle towards the West, away from the soon to appear sun.

Sam stood up and walked towards the window, opening it and letting the fresh air wash into the room. Danny breathed it pleased, it carried around a revitalizing scent of pinetree wood. Standing up as well, he walked to the window and closed the heavy dark curtains. He looked at Sam, the room was dark again. That had just been a taste at what he knew they'd never have, warm daylight.

"Let's go to bed, the sun's about to rise."

* * *

**

* * *

I know, all about the iron the blood and the veggies up there is made up. Toooooooootally made up. n.n**

**I hope this chapter Sam and Danny were IC. I _hope_. If they weren't, tell me.**

**BTW, there IS going to be at least one more chappy :D**


End file.
